


When I Wake You (I'll be the first thing you see)

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt!anon prompted: <i>Kurt wakes up to Blaine unknowingly jerking him off with a  tentacle  *_______*</i> So, this is early!Klaine tentacle porn. Plus some backstory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Wake You (I'll be the first thing you see)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Well, tentacle porn. Dub-con due to somnophilia (not previously discussed but not unwelcome). Also the following things happen to some extent with fingers, tentacles, or dicks: handjobs, blowjobs, and fingering/anal sex. A few swear words, and two homophobic slurs. Blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to Finn.
> 
> **A/N** : Loosely follows canon timeline/events through s2. Title from “Strange and Beautiful” by Aqualung. As always, all the thanks to the beautiful and talented [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/) for the beta! <3

When Kurt drifts back toward consciousness the morning after the first night he’d spent sharing a bed with Blaine, he’s sprawled on his back, a little too warm in the August heat that’s mounting early, and very, very hard.

It’s because of the dream, which is still vivid in his mind and, apparently, in other parts of his body too. He’d been back in that field of flowers with Blaine — always Blaine now, who’d replaced Taylor Lautner in the fantasy long ago, long before they’d started dating almost five months earlier. And maybe, because they’re together now, it’s silly to still be _having_ the dream, especially now that they’re tentatively and thrillingly pushing past the borders of making out, into previously uncharted territory where they rut together with their clothes on and creep their hands underneath, or press together naked under the cover of darkness or blankets. But the dream still happens, just like this morning, the blue sky bursting overhead while Blaine kisses and touches him, stroking softly at first, but then with growing confidence, slowly building Kurt up until — Kurt had woken up.

Kurt knows that what passes for pornographic in his fantasies would barely warrant an age restriction on YouTube, but evidently, it had gotten him so worked up that he’d _actually_ started stroking himself in his sleep. He’s flushed already from the sticky summer heat and the dream and the warmth of Blaine beside him, but his face burns even hotter when he registers the touch, light and slick along the length of his erection. He should probably stop, he thinks, even though it feels _really_ good, because it’s embarrassing enough that he had a sex dream about his boyfriend when they were in the same bed — he doesn’t need Blaine to wake up to _this_. He goes to pull his hand away — 

Which is when he realizes that he has one on his chest and the other flung above his head on the pillow. 

Snapping to full consciousness with his heart pounding in his chest and both hands accounted for, Kurt twists his head toward Blaine, because if it’s not him, it has to be Blaine. But Blaine is sleeping blissfully, facing Kurt, his face soft and his arms wrapped around his pillow. And that means…

“Blaine, _oh my god!_ ” Kurt gasps, struggling to push back the covers.

*

Kurt wasn’t even a year old when it had happened, so he doesn’t have any memories of when they first arrived. The Visitors. The Others. The aliens.

They didn’t look much different from anyone else — designed, perhaps, to blend in. There were pictures on the news, of course, and a few carefully-controlled government images that were released after that, and the Visitors just look like _people_. Kurt had seen them all since, in history books and magazines and on TV, and the only thing that makes them _look_ alien is the knowledge that they _are_ aliens. 

Apparently, though, they didn’t blend in well enough, because by Kurt’s fifth birthday, the news had already carried the report that the last of the Visitors had died, and that for some reason tied up in their biology, they hadn’t been able to sustain long-term life on Earth. 

That wasn’t the end of it, though. By the time Kurt was ten, the conspiracy theories were running rampant. They were still alive, they were living among us, they’d become government spies in exchange for amnesty. All the kids whispered about them on the playground and at sleepovers. Some of them snickered at Kurt and accused him of being one. It made him cry — he wasn’t, but he was different enough that it hardly mattered.

The taunts continued into the halls of McKinley High School. _Fag. Alien. Alien fag_. Kurt didn’t cry anymore. Not in front of them, anyway.

And then, when Kurt was seventeen, he met Blaine.

Blaine was everything that Kurt had ever wanted in a friend. Blaine was _actually_ everything that Kurt had ever wanted in a _boyfriend_ , but he was either completely oblivious to everything or willfully ignoring it, and Kurt was too afraid of ruining everything to push the issue.

Kurt didn’t like much about transferring to Dalton, but he did like that Blaine was there. Within two weeks of Kurt’s enrollment, they’d settled into a routine of spending all the time together that it was possible to spend: they ate lunch at the same table and sat beside each other at rehearsal and studied together in the commons or in Blaine’s room (Blaine boarded; Kurt didn’t). And that was exactly where Kurt left his phone one night, a fact that he realized only after he was halfway down the hall. He turned back and gave a half-knock on the door, not waiting for an answer before he pushed it open with a cheerful, “Sorry, I forgot my —” 

He stopped dead in his tracks, gasping so hard that his own words were choked off in his throat.

Because Kurt had imagined this scenario before: sometimes Blaine was just shirtless, like he was at that exact moment, wearing just his uniform pants and a startled expression. Sometimes he was wearing a towel. Very rarely, when Kurt was feeling particularly daring, he was naked.

But never in Kurt’s wildest imaginings did he have tentacles.

They were gone almost before Kurt registered what he saw, tucking back up into Blaine’s sides somehow as he fumbled for his uniform shirt. “Oh my god, Kurt, I — you’re not supposed to — _I’m_ not supposed to — oh my god,” he stuttered out, rambling, panicked, until his torso was covered again and he was left standing in the center of the room, small and scared and looking at Kurt with wide eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“Do?” Kurt asked dumbly, his voice strained through the shock. “I — Blaine, are you…?” He was wavering on his feet, he realized. Blaine reached instinctively for his arm, like he was afraid that Kurt would fall over without something to steady him. Kurt listed away from his hand, though, moving on his own to sit shakily on the edge of Blaine’s mattress. “Am I hallucinating?” he wondered aloud, more to himself than Blaine. “I’m lying at the bottom of the stairs bleeding to death, aren’t I.”

Blaine perched on the bed too, keeping a cautious distance between them. “No,” he said, his voice quiet and resigned. “At least I don’t think so.”

“So if I saw you with —” Kurt gestured weakly to Blaine’s side, unable to say the actual word because it sounded _so crazy_ “— would that be a hallucination?”

Slowly, Blaine shook his head, still watching Kurt with an expression akin to terror.

“But that means…” Kurt’s voice trailed away. _What it meant_ was so big that he couldn’t even wrap his mind around it. Forget wrapping his mind around it; he couldn’t even get a toe hold. “I thought that was all just — scary stories on the playground,” he finally mumbled, when Blaine just continued to wait him out. “Monsters hiding in plain sight.”

He could almost feel Blaine shrinking beside him. “Do you think I’m scary?” he asked, his voice smaller than ever. “A monster?”

Kurt blinked and finally raised his eyes back to Blaine’s face. His gaze was firm, and stronger than he felt. “I have no idea what you are. I think you should tell me.”

Blaine swallowed visibly, and then said, “I’m what you think I am. I’m a Visitor.”

The fallout took the rest of the night. Kurt called his father to tell him that he’d be sleeping at Rachel’s, and then he called Rachel to tell her to tell _Finn_ that Kurt was sleeping at her house. Rachel had squealed, of course, when she found out where he was instead, but when Kurt looked at Blaine, still huddled on the end of the bed and looking like the world was ending, his “it’s not like that” was completely honest. _This_ was so much more important than _that_ ever was.

Kurt learned more over the next ten hours than he ever had in his entire life. As it turned out, the conspiracy theories weren’t really theories after all (”There are hundreds of us here, Kurt, but we’re not spying for the government or planning a hostile takeover, I swear! We just… needed a place to go.”). He learned that the Visitors’ presence is the biggest political secret in the world (”I don’t even know if _I_ understand it all, but we have to keep it quiet for now. They say they’ll let us be ourselves. Some day.”). He learned that Blaine’s parents came to Earth together, and that Blaine was born after they arrived (”They put her through so many tests. I feel terrible about it, even though I know it’s not really my fault. They put _me_ through so many tests, but I don’t remember that at all.”).

Most importantly, he learned that Blaine was absolutely terrified that he’d fucked up everything for everyone.

“There was only one thing I had to do,” he said, curling morosely back in on himself, “and that was not let anyone find out. But now you know. And I don’t expect you not to tell anyone,” he added quickly, his eyes flying back up to meet Kurt’s. “That would be too much to ask. I understand. I do.”

“Blaine —” 

“— going to be so mad at me. I mean, this is only going to affect everyone on the entire planet, and all because I couldn’t remember to _lock_ my _door_. I wonder if we’ll all have to leave? I suppose that would be better than being executed. And I won’t be able to hang out with you anymore, _oh god_ —”

“Blaine!”

“What?” he asked reproachfully.

“I’m not… going to tell anyone,” Kurt said, the words surprising even himself.

Blaine paused, examining Kurt’s face closely. “You’re not?”

“Why would I? Especially if you’re not planning to hurt us?” Kurt countered with more conviction. “I’m going to make a splash in this world, Blaine, and it’s not going to be because I started an interstellar war. Besides, it would be really hard to watch _Four Weddings_ together if you’re in a different solar system.”

The look that Blaine gave him then — warm, disbelieving, almost _reverent_ — made Kurt’s stomach flip, and suddenly _this_ felt a little more like _that_ than he would have cared to admit. Which was silly, because as though he didn't have enough reasons to forget about his stupid crush already, Blaine _wasn't even human_. But try telling that to the tap-dancing butterflies in his stomach, which only fluttered harder when Blaine asked quietly, “You don’t want to — stop spending time with me?”

“Of course not!” Kurt exclaimed, maybe too loudly. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a more normal level. “You’re my best friend. A few extra appendages don’t change that.”

Blaine’s face softened further, and he tentatively reached out one hand to touch Kurt’s. “Thank you. That means — more than you could possibly know. I always thought that if anyone knew…”

He didn’t continue, but Kurt didn’t press. Instead, he smiled at Blaine, small and genuine. “There’s nothing to thank me for.” 

As Blaine squeezed his hand one last time and drew his own away, they lapsed into a brief silence. Kurt mourned the loss, but mostly, now that he’d mentioned _them_ again, his curiosity was niggling. “Would you —” he finally dared to ask, cautiously “— let me see them again?”

“Really?” Blaine’s tone was doubtful. “You’re probably just going to think they’re gross.”

“I’m not going to think they’re _gross_ ,” Kurt protested with a roll of his eyes, but when he continued, it was gentler. “I’m just… curious. You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” Blaine said hesitantly. He was already reaching up to the button closest to his throat, working it through the buttonhole, and Kurt suddenly felt like he’d been dropped in the middle of the Sahara — heat engulfed his body as his mouth went completely parched. He was just nervous about the whole tentacle-seeing thing, he tried to tell himself, his gaze fluttering between Blaine’s lashes covering his downcast eyes and his hands working down the placket of his shirt. That was all.

Kurt could barely breathe by the time it was open, and he hoped that his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. Blaine waited for a split second, his hands clutching nervously at the fabric as he glanced over at Kurt one last time for reassurance. Kurt hoped that the look he gave Blaine in return _was_ reassuring, rather than hopelessly turned on. Whatever he communicated, it must have been the right thing, because Blaine slid the shirt off — _holy shit_ — and his tentacles out. _Holy. Shit_.

It was enough to dull Kurt’s arousal — not because they were _gross_ , but because he was looking at his best friend, and his best friend had _tentacles_. There were eight of them, four on each side in a neat line descending down the sides of Blaine’s torso, starting several inches under each arm. They were the same color as his skin, and they were thicker than his fingers but thinner than his arms. They were longer than his arms, too, but Blaine was holding them protectively, curved in close to his body. “Well, this is them,” he said needlessly. “This is me.”

“Wow,” Kurt whispered. He wasn’t sure if _wow_ was the right word, but nothing more useful was coming to mind. He stared a bit longer, then asked, “Can they — do things?”

The tentacles hunched a little closer to Blaine’s sides. “Like what? Tricks? Magic?” 

“No!” Kurt said quickly. “No. I don’t know. Can you — pick stuff up with them?”

“Oh,” Blaine replied. “Yeah, I —” Three of the tentacles from the far side of his body moved, reaching around behind him to collect his uniform shirt, fold it neatly, and set it on the end of the bed. “I can.”

Kurt blinked. “So they’re…”

“Prehensile, yeah.” 

“Huh.” Kurt considered what he’d seen so far. “So you keep them, um… tucked away? Most of the time, I mean. Does it hurt?”

Even before Kurt was done asking the question, they were retracting, pulling back under Blaine’s skin, into gill-like slits that sealed shut once the tentacles were gone. “Not really,” Blaine responded with a shrug. “It just feels like when you sit in one spot for too long and you have to stretch your legs. More irritating than anything.”

Kurt stared at Blaine’s trim torso. “How does that work?” He waved a hand at Blaine’s body. “I mean, you can’t see them. You look —” _hot, amazing, so very half-naked_ “— normal.”

Blaine glanced down at himself. “Oh. I don’t know. It just does.” He eased the tentacles back out, and then raised his eyes to Kurt’s again, clearly expecting further questions.

“Can I touch them?” Kurt blurted out, and his face flamed.

The question clearly startled Blaine, but after a moment’s hesitation, one of the tentacles on the side closest to Kurt slowly stretched toward him. Kurt shot Blaine one last _are-you-sure-this-is-okay_ glance, and then lifted a hand to gently run his fingertips over it, gasping when he made contact. The skin was smooth, just slightly damp, and a little cooler to the touch than Blaine’s hands. The tentacle curled lightly around Kurt’s fingers and then unfurled as he dragged them back along the length of it. “Oh,” he said, as Blaine huffed out a short, shaky breath, and drew it quickly back.

“Do they bother you?” Blaine asked after an awkward moment of silence.

“No,” Kurt said. “Not at all.”

It was the absolute truth. Blaine’s answering smile was relieved and beautiful.

And a few weeks later, when his best friend was kissing him over a bejeweled canary coffin, Kurt didn’t spare the tentacles a second’s thought.

*

Since then, the whole thing has become strangely… normal. Blaine’s tentacles are usually hidden, but as a surprise, Kurt had altered two of his own shirts, tailoring them to fit Blaine and fashioning resealable slits into the sides. He had sewed snaps into one shirt and, despite his feelings on the subject, affixed Velcro to the other. It was truly a case of function before fashion, he had reassured himself grimly. Besides, it wasn’t his intention that Blaine would ever wear them in public. In private, they proved quite useful, particularly when they were cooking or baking together — Blaine was uniquely helpful in grabbing utensils or ingredients, and uniquely obnoxious in stealing bites of food and tastes of dough and frosting.

And when things were even more private, when they kissed and then made out and then (heart-poundingly, daringly) did more, Blaine had kept his tentacles politely tucked away. 

But now, with all four of their hands above the covers and _something_ stroking lingeringly up and down the length of his cock, Kurt is pretty sure there’s only one explanation. He finally manages to jerk the covers up and finds his suspicions confirmed: one of Blaine’s tentacles is snaking out from under his t-shirt and disappearing down the front of Kurt’s thin, silk pajama pants. Kurt almost chokes at the sight — the obscene tent that the fabric is making and the slow, steady motion underneath. “ _Blaine_ ,” he hisses, the word punching out of him as the tentacle grips him a little tighter. “Oh. Oh god.”

Beside him, Blaine is stirring, finally being pulled toward consciousness by Kurt’s flailing and his voice. “Huh? Kurt?” 

“Blaine, you’re — _oh_ —” Kurt gives up and lets his head fall back onto his pillow as the tip of the tentacle rubs under the ridge of the head, working the words out around gulps of air “— touching me.” It feels really good. It feels _way_ too good, in a way that neither his hand nor Blaine’s has never felt, warm and wet and tingling with sensation, and he doesn’t _understand_ — 

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Blaine yelps, and just like that, the pressure around Kurt’s cock is gone. Kurt gasps out a whine and cants his hips off the bed, just a bit, before dropping them self-consciously back down, breathing hard. Through the rushing in his ears, he becomes gradually aware that Blaine is still talking. “…I am _so sorry_ , Kurt. I mean, they have a mind of their own sometimes, but that is _completely_ unacceptable. God, I can’t believe —” 

Kurt collects his breath enough to interrupt with a weak, “Blaine,” but Blaine barely pauses in his rambling.

“Just give me a minute to find my shoes and I’ll go —” 

It’s that, combined with the rustling of the sheets, that finally breaks Kurt out of the daze that seems to be emanating directly from the throbbing heat between his legs. He forces his eyes open and drops his head to the side, flailing out an arm to catch Blaine’s wrist as he shifts toward the edge of the bed. “Blaine.”

“What?” Blaine asks. He can’t quite meet Kurt’s gaze, and he's pitifully hunched in on himself.

“Don’t go,” Kurt says, feeling woefully inarticulate between the shock and how desperately turned on he still is.

“I think it would be better if —”

“I don’t want you to go,” Kurt interjects. “Please stay here. With me.”

Blaine pauses, but then he shuffles back down, facing Kurt but still not really looking him in the eye. “I’m really sorry, Kurt.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says. Blaine nods against his pillow, but he doesn’t look up or otherwise respond. After a beat, Kurt adds, “I’m not mad at you,” because he’s pretty sure he’s not making that clear.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Blaine mumbles.

“I’m not!”

Blaine fixes him, suddenly, with a look that’s almost angry. “I touched you without your consent, Kurt. That’s not okay.”

Kurt chews thoughtfully on his lower lip. “I agree with you — in theory. And I think that we should maybe talk more about — I don’t know — boundaries? In the future. But Blaine…” He reaches out and gently touches one of Blaine’s tightly-curled hands. “You’re my boyfriend, and I love you, and I _love_ what we’ve been doing together. And if you want to wake me up — like that — that is perfectly fine with me,” he says, feeling color flood his face again. It has to be hotter than the surface of the sun under the covers. What was he _thinking_ , with a full set of pajamas and a blanket in _August_? “Provided that there is absolutely no chance that any of our parents or friends will walk in,” he adds quickly. “I don’t care if your tentacles have a mind of their own when you sleep — if my dad sees that, you’ll never wake up again. But it's okay with me.”

“Really?” Blaine asks. His tone is flat and doubtful. “Kurt, I —”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt interrupts. “I _want_ you to touch me. This is me giving you my consent,” he finishes boldly.

“Okay,” Blaine says, staring at him wide-eyed. He otherwise stays still.

Kurt purses his lips. “Blaine, listen to me. This is me giving you my consent. To touch me.” 

“Oh!” Blaine's eyes flare open even farther as a look of realization sweeps across his features. “Right now?”

Instead of answering, Kurt leans across to capture Blaine's mouth in an impatient kiss, then uses his lips and a hand on Blaine's shoulder to start drawing him back across the bed. Blaine is tense at first, but he relents quickly, chasing Kurt's mouth and scooting closer to his body. When he can tell that Blaine is really starting to lose himself in it – swiping his tongue out over Kurt's lips and making quiet, happy noises in his throat – Kurt pulls away, smiles, and lets his head fall onto the pillow, stretching out on his back. Blaine returns the smile, looking relieved and a little wicked, and reaches out to rest his hand on Kurt’s abdomen, bushing a light, warm touch through the fabric as he bunches it up, baring a strip of skin above Kurt’s waistband. 

It makes Kurt’s stomach flutter and arousal pool eagerly at the juncture of his thighs, but he forces himself to say, “I meant…”

Blaine’s shoulders stiffen up again, and he draws his hand back quickly. “You meant —”

“Touch me… like you were before,” Kurt clarifies, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

Blaine blinks, his eyelashes fluttering above his flushed cheeks. “Oh. With…”

Kurt nods. “It felt really good.” 

“That, uh… makes sense,” Blaine says, ducking his head and chuckling ruefully. “When I’m feeling, um, good, they produce, well, liquid, I guess? And it tingles.”

Kurt’s erection, which had retreated significantly and only just started stirring to life again, surges dizzyingly back to attention. “I am — so glad I didn’t know that before,” he groans, shifting against the mattress.

“Why?” Blaine asks. He looks puzzled, and maybe like he can’t decide whether he should be offended or not.

“If I had known that my boyfriend _secretes tingling lubricant_ ,” Kurt explains, too floored by the idea to be very bothered by actually saying the words, “I would have _never_ stopped thinking about it.”

He's pretty sure that Blaine’s dumbstruck expression is mirroring his own. “You would think about…”

Kurt squirms again and whines, “Blaine, _please_ , just touch me already?” Impatiently, he shoves the covers down far enough that Blaine can get a clear view of _just how much_ he wants to be touched. When he swivels his head back to check Blaine's reaction, he finds Blaine staring at his erection with dark, hungry eyes, his tentacles peeking out from under the hem of his thin t-shirt. Kurt reaches out to pluck at the material. “And take this off?”

Blaine doesn’t waste any time in doing so, and then he settles down next to Kurt on his side, propped up on one elbow. He dips forward, cupping Kurt’s face with his free hand and sealing his lips over Kurt’s in a kiss that’s deep and hot from the start. At the same time, Kurt feels _something_ drag his pajama top up a little more, and he shivers at the knowledge of exactly what it is and exactly where it's going.

Kurt sucks a hard breath in through his nose as the tentacle slides to the exposed skin of his belly next, trailing down and leaving a cool, prickling trail over his stomach before working its way under the waistband of his pants and ( _again, finally_ ) making tantalizing contact with the head of his cock. Even Blaine groans then, a low, surprised noise that rattles out as his fingers curl into the back of Kurt’s neck and he presses himself closer along Kurt’s side. The tentacle coils lightly around Kurt’s erection and works down. Kurt moans.

It’s even better now that he’s fully awake to appreciate it: Blaine is keeping the pressure light, but it doesn’t take long before Kurt is coated from root to tip in fluid, the sensation of it thrilling all along his length and making him feel like he’s being touched _everywhere_. Each pass of Blaine’s tentacle only pushes the feeling deeper and makes it more intense, and Kurt realizes with startling clarity that this could all be over _really, really soon_. With a garbled _nggh_ into Blaine’s mouth, he pulls his hands away from where they’re digging into Blaine’s back to start unbuttoning the front of his pajama top. He abandons the effort almost immediately and starts frantically pushing his pants down instead, which only leads to his hips pushing up into the tentacle wrapped around him, and that _doesn’t help at all_. Kurt shudders and gives a whimper that’s part pleasure, part frustration.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, his voice concerned as he breaks the kiss and his tentacle goes still on Kurt’s cock.

“I don’t want to get these dirty,” he mumbles. “They’ll be impossible to clean.” He lifts his hips again and manages to slide the waistband down under the curve of his ass. He gently peels the front — already damp in spots from whatever it is that’s leaking out of Blaine’s skin — past his straining cock and Blaine’s tentacle wrapped around it, a sight that makes Kurt gasp and Blaine groan. They’ve been naked together before, but they’ve usually been hidden from each other, and it’s certainly never been in the bright light of morning, and — Kurt looks over at Blaine, at the sleep pants that he's still wearing. “You too,” he says breathlessly, kicking his pants down his legs and going back to work on the buttons of his shirt.

The withdrawing slide of Blaine’s tentacle makes Kurt hiss, but he just focuses on getting his pajama top off before lying back down. It suddenly feels like the dirtiest, most wanton thing in the world — to be naked and exposed on his bed, the summer sun and a warm breeze streaming in through the open window while he spreads his legs and waits for his boyfriend to touch his cock again, to find it where it’s hard and already sticky and still tingling on Kurt’s stomach.

Blaine is beautiful in the sunlight, trim and smooth, and he’s sporting an impressive hard-on that he snugs up to Kurt’s hip with a low whine. “God, Kurt, you’re so —” he cuts himself off, looking uncertain. 

“What?” Kurt asks, reaching up to pet one hand through the side of Blaine’s ruined gel job from the day before, and Blaine’s body churns slowly into his side. They haven’t talked much during their brief forays into intimacy, but suddenly, Kurt finds that he doesn’t want them to hold themselves back as much as they have been. Not now, when everything feels so warm and loose and comfortable. “Tell me.”

“ _Hot_ ,” Blaine breathes, propping himself back up and leaning over Kurt’s chest again, capturing his mouth wide open. Kurt surges up into it, into the wet heat of Blaine’s tongue between his lips and Blaine’s tentacle wrapping more surely around his cock, jerking firmer and faster while a ribbon of tingling liquid seeps down onto his balls. Blaine rocks his hips into Kurt’s thigh, and Kurt can feel his skin dampening there too, precome smearing with the motion.

And it _is_ hot, Blaine’s open mouth and his hard cock and his hand and his slick tentacle all on Kurt’s body. It feels like _more_ than any other handjob Blaine’s ever given him before, and Kurt’s not sure if it’s because it’s morning or because they’re naked or because Blaine’s not actually using his hand, but he does know that he wants to chase the feeling, to run up the hill after it, to take it as far as he can before it's over. So when he finds his fingers curled around Blaine’s shoulder, Kurt drags them down to trace the places where Blaine’s tentacles disappear into his skin, making Blaine tremble. Blaine's still only touching Kurt with one of them, but the rest are out, either close to Blaine's body or helping to keep him propped up over Kurt. 

Kurt turns his head to the side, dragging lips away from the kiss and forcing Blaine’s to slide damply back across his cheek. He runs his fingers over the bases of Blaine’s tentacles again, and whispers, “More.”

Blaine shudders against him, harder this time, and he moans and drags eager kisses along Kurt’s jaw and down his neck, puffing out harsh breaths against Kurt’s throat. Kurt almost starts to wonder if he needs to ask again or be more specific, but then he feels them — a light touch that prickles gently over and around his sac, and another that runs up his chest to circle a nipple and rub against it, drawing it up even tighter into a startled, tingling peak, all while Blaine keeps up a relentless rhythm on his cock.

Pleasure zings along Kurt’s skin, back and forth from Blaine’s mouth to all the other places Blaine’s touching him, which feels like everywhere, more than everywhere, lips and hands and tentacles coiling over his body, saliva and precome and whatever it is that’s dripping out of Blaine’s tentacles, over Kurt’s dick, over his balls, even down over his hole, which makes him jump and twist his hips restlessly. They haven’t had _that_ conversation yet, and Blaine doesn’t touch him there; Kurt doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or disappointed.

He can feel Blaine’s lips and tongue going sloppy against his throat. Blaine tries to kiss Kurt’s mouth again, but Kurt is too overwhelmed to return it, and he lolls his head to the side after a moment, making thready noises and bracing his feet against the mattress to work his hips up into the grasp of Blaine's tentacle. “Blaine — I’m —”

“Do it,” Blaine groans raggedly into the space between Kurt’s neck and shoulder. If Kurt had enough brainpower to ponder it, he’d be surprised that Blaine seems almost further gone than he is — he’s rutting in uneven jerks against Kurt’s hip, his cock hot and leaking, his body shaking. As it is, Kurt lets the thought go, surrendering with a hoarse noise to the orgasm his body is straining toward so desperately, coming hard over his chest and stomach, striping across Blaine’s tentacles and eventually dripping down over the one wrapped around him.

When he finally manages to blink his eyes back open and bring the ceiling into focus, Kurt breathes out a quiet, shocked, “wow.” The whole experience had been — more than he’d bargained for, certainly, and he’s going to have to wash his bedding down to the mattress pad, but he can’t bring himself to regret it or even feel embarrassed about it. In fact, he mostly feels a kind of smug pity for everyone else in the world who _doesn’t_ have an extraterrestrial partner to give them a handjob that’s probably hotter than the _actual_ sex that most people have. 

Blaine chuffs out a laugh against Kurt’s throat, but he’s still hard against Kurt’s thigh, and his body is still tight and trembling. “Honey,” Kurt says, petting one hand down Blaine’s damp back and lifting his head, “can I — _oh my god_.”

He gapes down Blaine’s body, his mouth rounding over words that don’t come, because Blaine is leaning heavily against his side in a way that brings his ass up off the mattress – and three of his tentacles are touching it. There’s one on each round cheek, pulling them gently apart, and one clearly… in between. Kurt is spent and oversensitive, but he twitches on the bed all the same. “Oh my god,” he finally repeats.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine whimpers, still hiding his face in Kurt’s neck. “Mind of their own. And it feels so… I didn’t want to stop.” 

Kurt can’t seem to tear his eyes away. The angle is such that he can’t _actually_ see what’s happening, but he _knows_ , and it’s more than enough to make him feel dizzy all over again. He flattens his hand against the smooth dip of Blaine’s waist. “Don’t apologize. Keep going.”

“Kurt —”

It sounds like Blaine's going to protest, but Kurt silences him with one gentle shove of his thigh against Blaine’s cock. “Go ahead.”

Blaine releases one more shaky breath, but he starts to move again, a bit hesitantly at first, but soon his hips are stuttering against Kurt’s body, and then — 

And _then_ the tentacle at his ass starts to undulate, twisting a little as it goes and drawing a broken noise from Blaine’s throat. Dazed and curious, Kurt lets one hand trail down Blaine's back. He can’t quite bring himself to touch Blaine _there_ , but he slides his fingers into the slick spot left on Blaine’s ass cheek by the tentacle still resting there. It makes his fingertips tingle, and he digs them into Blaine’s thick flesh, pulling it farther back. Blaine whines, and his tentacles, where they’re still resting on Kurt’s body (and thankfully not wrapped around his cock) are coiled tight, dripping liquid onto his skin. Kurt touches the one on his chest experimentally, and it wraps itself securely around his fingers.

They’re sensitive, Kurt knows. Before he can give it too much thought, he lifts his hand and licks uncertainly over the back of the tentacle. The taste of it — sharp and tangy — filters into his mouth as Blaine takes a quick breath and stiffens, and when Kurt sucks the tentacle between his lips, brushing his tongue up under the tip, Blaine comes, shuddering against Kurt’s side as his cock spills over Kurt’s ribs and down onto the mattress. “Oh my god, Kurt,” he gasps. “ _Oh my god_.”

Kurt hums and drops his hand back to his chest, taking the tentacle, which stays curled around his fingers, with it. He removes his other hand from Blaine’s ass to sweep it up and down his back, and only when Blaine shivers at every pass does Kurt realize that he’s painting trails of Blaine’s own fluid on his skin. Kurt’s whole mouth is stinging with it, a feeling not entirely dissimilar from having just brushed his teeth. “That was,” he says dreamily, giving the ceiling a lazy smile, “..nice.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees from where he’s collapsed, dead weight, against Kurt’s side. “Nice.” There’s a beat, and then they’re both giggling, curling into each other more comfortably despite how completely disgusting they are.

“Come up here and kiss me,” Kurt orders, tugging Blaine away from his neck. When he finally gets a look at Blaine’s face again — flushed, tender, bordering on bashful — he can’t help but grin, and Blaine does too, so that when they do finally manage to lean in and kiss, it starts hard and with a clack of teeth. They laugh again and pull back to look shy and amused into each other’s eyes before sinking back together, into a kiss that's lush and long and a little stunned.

“Kurt,” Blaine finally murmurs into it. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Kurt asks, leaning back against the pillow. “From where I’m sitting, you did most of the work.”

Blaine smiles down at him. “For accepting all of me. For wanting to be with all of me.” 

Kurt feels a warm rush of happiness and affection flood his chest. He gazes back for a few seconds before he quips, “Oh, believe me. The pleasure was all mine.”

“No, _trust me_ ,” Blaine shoots back. “That is _not_ true.” Then they’re giggling again, rearranging themselves on the bed until they’re lying side by side, the wind spilling in and cooling their damp skin.

“So,” Kurt says, trying to sound conversational and knowing that he’s failing miserably, “does that mean that you want to — you know…”

Blaine blinks slowly at him. He smiles with one corner of his mouth, but a small crease appears between his eyebrows. “Uh, I don’t actually.” 

_Oh god_ , Kurt is going to have to explain himself. He feels heat race up his cheeks, but he forces himself to _just say it_. After what they’d done, he should at least be able to get the words out. “Do you want to, um… _be-on-the-receiving-end-of-things_?” he rushes out, wincing at his choice of words even as they’re tumbling out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Blaine says. “Yeah.” His voice is matter-of-fact, but he blushes and then averts his eyes for a second before swinging them back to meet Kurt’s. “I want to try both. I want to do everything with you. If you want to, that is.” They stare at each other for a moment before Blaine quickly tacks on, “Eventually!” 

Kurt feels a fond smile creep over his face. “Eventually,” he agrees. “But first, shower?”

Blaine grins. “I would love to.” His face goes a bit cheeky as he adds, “And if you liked that, just wait until I wash your hair.”

Kurt cocks an eyebrow at him. “I’m starting to think there’s a lot of benefits to this situation that I hadn’t really thought out.” 

“Don’t worry,” Blaine says. “We’ll figure them all out. Eventually.” He winks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr over [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/).


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